Blood & Whiskey
by SarcasticEnigma
Summary: "What's that smell?" "Bourbon and despair." Beth Márquez never really had friends or much in the way of family, so fate sent her one: Cassidy, Jesse and Tulip. Their bond was like heroin; she wanted it to last forever. Cassidy/OC! Rated T for now. R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer:_** I don't own _Preacher_ or any of its characters. I only own Beth and this fic, so please don't steal. I'm gonna do this fic differently than I normally do, which is to do this as a series of 2-page chapters rather than a full length novella. Enjoy!

 ** _Blood & Whiskey_**

 **Chapter 1**

"Morning, Beth! How you doing?" Emily Woodrow called out from her van.

The mother of three had been driving to morning mass when she spotted the olive skinned woman walking leisurely down the street, black hair flapping in the breeze. Considering they'd grown up together, like mostly everybody in town, Beth shouldn't have been as much of a stranger as she was. There were rumors, of course, there always were in a small town, but Emily tried not to let that influence her opinion. Emily thought it was the good and proper Christian thing to do to try and befriend the woman who, as far as she could tell, had no friends of her own. Beth was quiet and kept to herself, but everybody needed somebody so Emily tried to be that somebody for her. She called out again to ask her how she was doing, thinking the other woman hadn't heard her the first time. Beth didn't answer, a clear indication that she'd just been ignoring Emily, like usual.

"So, um, anyway," Emily continued, trying to push past the awkwardness, "will we see you at church this morning?" Beth just lit a cigarette in response. "It's just that I don't think I've ever seen you there, not since we were kids, and I was just wondering. I can give you a ride, if you want!" she kindly offered with a smile.

"Fuck off, Emily," the Chicana woman stated. Emily blanched.

"…Oh. O-okay. Um…" Emily's smile faded as she continued to coast beside Beth, at a loss for words. She could hear her kids giggling in the backseat and held back a sigh of irritation. Great, they'd probably be repeating the curse for days on end now. "Well, if you…I'll, uh…" Beth still hadn't looked at her, just kept walking and smoking. Seeing there was no point, Emily decided to just cut her losses and try again another day. "Um, okay then. Bye, Beth! Nice talking to you!"

Beth raised a hand and did her signature three-finger wave, continuing her meandering down the street as Emily drove off to All Saints. Needless to say, Beth Márquez was not one of the God-fearing locals of Annville. She'd grown up in the shithole town, left when she was a teenager, and returned a few years later after getting out some bad shit. Fantastic money, but real bad shit. Sure, her life wasn't as glamorous as it'd previously been – there was nothing glamorous about living in a trailer park – but at least she was alive and sober. Well, drug-sober at any rate. No way in hell could she give up alcohol. Most days, seemed like that was the only thing that kept her moving.

Walking into the corner store, the bell jingling above to announce her entrance, Beth followed the familiar path to the fridges in the back with all the beer. She pushed her aviators atop her head and pulled the worn black notebook from her back pocket. Unwrapping the elastic strap from it, she flipped through the yellowing pages until she found what she was looking for. Smirking, Beth recalled that it had taken her about a month of trailing to get and confirm the accuracy of the information she'd just read. Closing the notebook, she secured it and returned it to her back pocket before grabbing her necessities. Without a free hand, she left her cigarette sitting precariously in the corner of her mouth as she walked towards the counter where the clerk was glaring at her.

"Usual, I see," he remarked, his tone laced with judgment. Beth hummed disinterestedly around her cigarette, finally able to tap the loose ashes off. Paul was a shithead who'd peaked in high school, never left Annville, and ended up taking over his family's little mini-mart and pretended that the little bit of power he had actually made him somebody. In reality, it didn't make him shit. Even as he was ringing up her weekly, sometimes biweekly, combination order of whiskey, vodka, and two six-packs of her favorite beer, he was sneering at her. _As if he's so much better than me_ , she thought, taking another drag of her cigarette. He sighed and told her, "I'm tired of telling you, you can't smoke in here."

"Then stop," Beth replied, blowing a steam of smoke in his face. Paul coughed and waved the smoke away, face turning red as he opened his mouth to yell at her. "Or I'll tell your wife where you _really_ go every Thursday." The clerk paused.

"What? I-I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about," Paul sputtered, trying to brush off her threat.

Beth suddenly snatched Paul by his shirt collar and yanked him over the counter so she could whisper in his ear. She was a little upset that she couldn't see the way his confidence faded, the way he paled with every word, but she at least felt it with his shrinking posture. When she'd finished assuring him that she _did_ , in fact, know what the hell she was talking about, Beth gathered up her groceries and headed for the door. _On second thought_ , she considered and moved back to the counter, where Paul was still staring into space. Whacking his shoulder, she gestured to the cartons of her cigarette brand and held up two fingers. Paul nodded and quickly grabbed the cartons, putting them in one of her bags.

"I think my purchases are on your tab from now on, Paul, don't you?" Paul nodded as Beth stared him down. He was perplexed as to why she hadn't left until her eyes flickered toward the register, then he realized. Her purchases were on his tab. Paul reluctantly opened the register and gathered up the money from Beth's purchase, passing it back to her. Her cash secured back in her wallet, Beth smiled at Paul. " _Gracias_. See you next week." Pulling her sunglasses down, Beth walked back into the unbearable heat of Annville, Texas with confidence. Information was power, that was a lesson she'd learned a long time ago.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Preacher_ or any of its characters. I only own Beth and this fic, so please don't steal.

 **Chapter 2**

Perhaps working in a bar when you're functioning alcoholic wasn't the best idea, but it was easy money and Beth _loved_ easy money. Not to mention, a bunch of the locals were out in Pecos reenacting the Battle of Fredericksburg, which meant that they'd return riled up and ready to get piss drunk, if they weren't already. The happier they were, the better tips she got. The more hands-on they were, the more satisfying it was for her to pick their pockets and collect reparations. Being dumb and not noticing her lifting their wallets was the least they could do in return for grabbing her ass. All in all, picking their pockets was on the low end of her berserk spectrum, She could've gone to the high end, which was "beat the shit out of them".

Beth had been shuffling her worn deck of cards, half listening to the news reporting that Tom Cruise was dead, and betting with the local preacher, Jesse Custer, for free drinks when her night finally got interesting. The first thing was when a strange Irishman walked in and ordered whiskey. He chugged the Ratwater brand like it was water, which impressed her. Only person she knew who could drink hard liquor like that was herself. Of course, then he opened his mouth and she could hardly understand half the shit he said as he spoke to the preacher. Either he was already piss drunk and had forgotten where he was, or he'd been piss drunk and dumped into town as a practical joke. That seemed far more likely as, in such a small town, everyone knew everyone and Beth didn't know this man. He was definitely an out-of-towner.

"A bar," Jesse answered shortly. Beth shuffled the cards again and set the deck before him. He cut the deck and held up his half, showing her the seven of hearts; Beth cut the deck and smirked, showing him the jack of spades. "Damn it!" he cursed, slamming his losing card down as Beth took his shot for herself.

"Oooh, that's bad luck there, padre," the stranger commented.

"You're cheating," Jesse accused, pointing at her.

"No, no, no, no, no. I'm sure she's not. Here," the Irishman said, snatching the cards Beth was shuffling, much to her irritation, "let me try." He shuffled the cards for a moment before slamming them down between the pair of locals, throwing her a wink. "There! Try yer luck wit' them!" Jesse cut the deck and groaned at the sight of the three of clubs, sliding his shot to Beth and dropping his head onto his arms. She chuckled, accepting his defeat. "Oh. Sorry about that. And, no, I know it's a bar! I meant to say what's the location? You know, the state, county, or town or somethin'? Or maybe there's a phone box handy down by the loo, perhaps?"

"I'm tryin' to understand a word you're sayin', pal."

"You're in Texas," Beth announced casually, throwing back her winning shot. "Phone's in the back. _A la vuelta_ ," she added, pointing him in the right direction. The man winked and grinned as he rose to his feet.

"Much obliged, luv. Good luck to ya, padre." As he strolled towards the phone, whiskey in hand, Beth and Jesse shared a look. _Outsiders_ , they silently griped with a shake of their heads. Deciding to take mercy on him, Beth put away her cards and cracked open a beer for him. She was done playing with the preacher for the night.

The second interesting thing that happened that night was when Donnie Schenck and his crew came in from the reenactment. Donnie called out to the preacher and, after a bit of bullshitting, he sucker punched a very boozy Jesse. Apparently, Jesse had talked to Donnie's wife without talking to him first. Because that was the way the world worked, according to a redneck like Donnie. What the preacher had spoken to Betsy about was beyond Beth's realm of care, but she loved a good fight. Crossing her arms, she leaned forward on bar and watched in rapt interest as Jesse proceeded to not only beat the shit out of Donnie but all his friends as well. Funny, Beth noticed the preacher smirking happily at one point amidst the brawl. Seemed he loved to fight as much as she did.

"You ready for that noise now?" Jesse asked Donnie. A high-pitched, bunny-in-a-bear-trap sound, he'd said earlier for the entire bar to hear. Donnie had laughed it off but Jesse had promised that Donnie would know it when it came, because he would be the one making it. Beth watched, her body shaking in anticipation.

"Preacher! Enough." Sheriff Root warned from the entrance. "Your little weirdo friend, too."

Offended, the Irishman shrugged and retorted, "What did _I_ do?"

"Almost done, Sheriff."

Jesse quickly grabbed Donnie by his wrist and broke his arm, the bone protruding through the skin. A moment passed before Donnie opened his mouth and everyone heard the noise. Beth frowned, remembering all the times she'd heard that sound in the past. It wasn't a sound she liked. It was a sound she'd hoped she'd left in the past and would never have to hear again. Wiping her hands on a dirty rag, she grabbed the broom and set about starting to clean up the mess the men made while the Sheriff arrested Jesse and the outsider. Donnie was writhing on the floor, trying to bury his head into the hardwood so no one would see him crying. Not that it mattered, since everyone could hear him. _What a fucking mess_ , she thought as she swept all the broken glass into a pile.

"You gonna take him to the hospital or just sit there, _cabr_ _ónes_?" Beth posed to the bar, not really caring who decided to take care of Donnie. The faster the mess him and the other men had made was cleaned up, the faster she could go home.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Preacher_ or any of its characters. I only own Beth and this fic, so please don't steal.

 **Chapter 3**

"Morning, Beth!" Emily greeted, rushing up to the other woman. Her and the preacher were standing outside the Fair 'N' Square, asking for suggestions for All Saints. Beth rolled her eyes behind her aviators, picking up her pace to try and avoid them. Jesse was easy enough to get around, since he was only half-heartedly passing out the pamphlets and such. Emily, on the other hand, was persistent as ever. "You got a suggestion for the church?" she inquired, holding out a pamphlet.

"If I suggested you leave me the fuck alone, would you listen?" Beth said without pausing on her entrance into the store. Emily paused, momentarily stunned.

"I'll be right back," Emily told Jesse before chasing after the irate woman. "Beth," she said, startling the woman with her sudden appearance, "Hey, listen, I know we don't really get along but—" _Enough is enough_ , Beth thought, stopping in her tracks. Whipping around, she ripped off her sunglasses and got in Emily's face.

"Since my subtle hints seem to go over your head, let me spell it out for you: I don't believe in God." Emily's mouth dropped in shock, uncertain what to say. Not that it mattered because Beth didn't give her a chance to rebuttal. "I don't believe in Heaven or Hell, angels, the devil, or that a man can turn water into wine just because he popped out of a virgin's snatch, or _any_ of that fantasy _mierda_ , and do you know why?" Beth asked rhetorically, but Emily still shook her head. Stepping even closer to her, she said, "Because I don't care that a bunch of _pinche gringos_ got together and decided that all that bullshit in your precious Bible was real so I should be penitent and afraid and behave because, if I don't, some invisible absentee father in the sky will punish me. I just don't care. Do you understand now?" Emily, who had gone pale during Beth's rant, nodded sheepishly. " _Bueno_. So, for the last time: _fuck_ , _off_."

Putting her sunglasses on, protecting her eyes from the obnoxiously bright store lights that aggravated her hangover, Beth turned from Emily and went about her business. Emily stood there a moment, eyes focused on the linoleum floor, composing herself before returning back outside, smile plastered on her face. Later that night, as she sat drinking and watching TV, Beth replayed her brief conversation with Emily in her mind. She had been cruel, unnecessarily so, she could admit that. Other than annoying her with her kindness, Emily had never done anything to her to deserve Beth's ire. In fact, she was one of the only people in Annville that tried to befriend her. Beth remembered when she'd returned to town a few years ago, Emily had shown up on her doorstep at the trailer park with a casserole.

 _"¡Joder!_ " Beth cursed angrily, stomping out of her trailer.

She made it to the church in record time, shocking since her truck was a rusted piece of junk that barely worked most days. Beth had intentionally hurt Emily, so she would apologize in her normal fashion: throw money at the problem. The whole town had been complaining about the AC being broken at All Saints, so that seemed like the best option. But she need to know the model of air conditioner the church had first so she could buy the same one, just brand new. After snapping a picture of the conditioners information, she walked inside the church to grab a drink, maybe some of the communal wine. But she immediately stopped at the sight of two dead bodies and a man writhing in the blood that was splattered all over the place. The man in question was lanky Irishman from the bar, slurping up the blood like he was at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Walking closer, the heels of her boots clicked against the floor. It was dark but she could clearly make out the blood caked all over his face, soaking his shirt and pants. His eyes met hers and he grunted, rolling unsteadily to his feet. Beth's eyes were drawn to his stomach, where his shirt had ridden up and allowed her watch what appeared to be a shotgun wound close. Her mind was a steady steam of every curse word in her vocabulary, in English _and_ Spanish.

"Shite," the Irishman declared. "Okay, easy now, luv," he soothed, hands raised as if trying to calm a wild animal. "Don't scream. I can explain." Beth had no intention of screaming, quite the contrary. This wasn't the first time she'd seen such a bloody mess. She'd hoped that part of her life was behind her but that didn't seem to be in the cards. Without hesitation, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out her cellphone. "Ah, ah, ah! You don't wanna be doing that!" he warned, but Beth ignored him. She took a screenshot of lock screen, so she could make a note of the time later, and quickly put it phone away.

"You look like you need a hand, Lucky," she stated calmly. "I'll get the trash bags," she added, already moving to the little house attached to the church. It took a minute to find them, stashed underneath the sink in the kitchen, and she grabbed a dishtowel as well as the rubber washing gloves.

""Lucky"?" he echoed confusedly.

"Like a leprechaun," she responded, with a shrug walking back to the main room. She tossed the towel at him, letting it smack him in his face. "Clean yourself up."

""Lucky", really? What, 'cause I'm Irish?" he inquired, wiping his face clean as best he could. Beth shrugged noncommittally. "Supposin' I start calling you Speedy then, huh? " Beth stared blankly. "'Cause of Speedy Gonzales. _Ándale, á_ _ndale_ _arriba_ _!_ " he mocked, huffing with laughter.

Glaring, Beth remarked, "That's racist."

"And calling me a bloody leprechaun isn't?!" he snapped. She shook her head. The man shrugged and pulled off his bloody shirts and vest, chucking it towards the dismembered pile of soon-to-be trash. "Name's Cassidy. What's yours, bartender?"

"Beth," she answered, shaking open a large black trash bag. "Enough talk. We have work to do."


End file.
